Please, Let Me Love You
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: After Matthew's death, Richard tries to comfort Isobel, but things go wrong.
1. Chapter 1

He saw her, in the following weeks, only intermittently; she seldom called at the hospital, and he suspected she deliberately avoided the big house when she knew that he would be calling. And he could almost understand. Certainly he could understand that she didn't have the time to come to the hospital, from what Lady Mary said to him in passing, it seemed that she was almost constantly occupied with her grandson- the hired nursemaid had been left practically redundant. And the piercing pain he felt in his own chest every time he had seen her since made him understand quite clearly why she might want to avoid him completely, if she felt anything like what he did. Except, he wished she wouldn't avoid him; for him, it hurt more not to see her, no matter what.

He wanted to know if she was alright, or at least coping, he wanted to be there, just there, in case she needed him. He wanted to be with her. Whatever it cost them to break this barrier of ice and silence that had formed between them ever since... well, ever since. He was sure they had not spoken a single word together, and if their eyes had met both had looked sharply away, like hands being snatched away when inadvertently touching something burning. He could hardly even look at her now for the fear of such a moment, and the hurt it cost him. He needed... He just needed her. He needed her back with him.

_As they had been that afternoon. _

_He let her be alone with her son's body. There are things, he had thought, too personal to be witnessed. It wasn't his place to be there with her, even if he wanted to. He waited for her in his office, sitting at his desk with his hands clasped anxiously together in front of him, too nervous, sad, worried about her to be able to do anything but watch the foot of the metal leg of the bed left made in the far corner of the room in case necessity ever compelled him to spend the night there._

_He remembered the nights during the War, lying in that same, uncomfortable bed, thinking of the woman, who, two rooms down the corridor, was saying goodbye to her son. It had always been in some sort of frustration that he had thought of her; sometimes at her, sometimes at himself. Sometimes out of irritation, others out of desire for her. And, if he was truthful, always out of love, he thought, in spite of everything. His hand moved and clenched a little on the arm of his chair. _

_She was gone a long time, but finally he heard the sound of the door being opened, rather timidly, though without a knock. Once she was inside the room, she closed the door behind her, leaning backwards against it. Standing up, moving closer to her with some caution, it was clear to him that she had been crying, but she was not any longer. _

"_Mrs Crawley," he began, taking another step in her direction but still remaining a certain distance away, "Is there anything that I can-...?"_

"_Richard," she cut him off quietly, sadness in every tiny breath and tremor of her voice, "Please."_

_That was all. "Please."_

"_What?" he asked her hesitantly._

_She said it again._

"_Please," she murmured, stepping swiftly towards him, closing the space in between them, touching him instantly. Differently to before, when, seeing she was in shock, he had tenderly guided her up the hospital steps with light pressure on her elbow. _

_Not that she wasn't tender, as her hands pressed against his chest, but she was more certain, more __forceful than he had been. She, her stance, her very air, was demanding. Her hands were only quivering slightly, and when she pressed them to the back of his head, into his hair to pull his mouth down to meet hers, she did so deftly and with assurance._

_For a few moments he was too shocked to respond, but her lips were softly, pliant, kissing him fervently. He could not help kissing her back. For a moment, he almost considered putting up some sort of resistance to her, but it was impossible; she kissed him in just the right way, his mouth almost shuddered into responsive motion, making him taste her, sucking her lower lip between his, slipping his tongue into her inviting mouth to explore. He felt her moan breathlessly against his mouth. _

_Before they had even broken their kiss, her hands had slipped down to his neck, undone his bow-tie, his shirt collar. Their eyes met, her hands resting one more on his chest. Both were considerably out of breath. Her eyes were dark, drugged with desire, and sadness. He saw that she was shaking now._

"_Isobel," he whispered, trying her name so carefully, "We..." You're vulnerable, he wanted to say, we can't. "Is this really the way to make it better?" he asked her in a weak voice._

_She looked at him very clearly._

"_My heart is broken," she told him simply, and he saw tears form in her eyes, but they didn't fall, "You can't possibly hurt me any more, Richard."_

_Any other argument, any feeble insistence that this was what she needed to make things seem fine, would never have broken him like that did. He did no make one murmur of protest after that. He knew then without having to be told that she needed him, like this, she did not need to put it into words. He didn't think she could. And he loved her, God forgive him, but he loved her, like this, and if she needed him then he was willing to let her use him for whatever she needed. She put the latch on the door with slightly fumbling fingers and he allowed her to push him back onto the bed and resume undressing him. _

_She lay beside him, fumbling his shirt off, removing her own dress and corset between hot, breathy, hard kisses. His arms held her naked back, encircling her, but she was very much in control, forcing their kiss until they panted against each other, and his body threatened to tumble backwards and out of the narrow bed with the force with which she was pushing herself against him. His hands traced to her breasts, cupping them both and kneading them softly, marvelling at their firmness, the hardness of her nipples, and she took advantage of his moment of distraction to push him over onto his back, straddling his waist. As she lent forward to kiss his lips again, tracing his throat to bite his neck, he felt her open wetness press against his abdomen, and groaned. One of hands rested on her waist, the other on her right knee, her breasts falling forwards and pressing against his own chest._

_He had never felt closer to a human being before. There was nothing gentle about her hands closing in a vice-like grip on his shoulder as she lowered herself onto him, nothing careful or refined as she lowered herself onto him, taking him into her, biting her own lip hard until it was drained of colour. He threw his own head back at the blissful tightness of her, and his fingers tightened on her waist. He was only able to look at her once she started to raise and lower herself onto him; her eyes closed against the feeling, her face screwed up in effort as she concentrated on the point at which they touched, her breasts bouncing with her erratic movements. It was still tender and painfully sensual for all its carelessness, its roughness. His pelvis jutted up to meet hers. For all its brutality, it implicit pain, their lovemaking was still tender, still so sweet, sweet as her breath in his ear, as the heat of their bodies, her wetness beginning to leak down to the top of his thighs. _

_Her eyes opened wide when he slipped his hand against his own groin so that his fingers brushed her clitoris when she lowered herself to him. He heard her gasp at the feeling, felt the fresh rush of moisture at her centre. _

"_Oh darling," it was the first time she had spoken for a long while, her words slipping out almost involuntarily between frantic pants, the sound coming from nearer than he had expected as she leant forwards as the first crippling feeling of her building climax ripped through her body, "Yes, darling, like that, oh please!"_

"_Please what?" he managed to pant._

"_Touch my breasts," she instructed, her eyes falling shut again, opening with her desperate keen as he complied, "Richard, RICHARD!"_

_She slumped forwards over him, her hips rocking violently as her muscles tightened around him and her body shook with her orgasm. He thrust into her once more, spilled himself inside her and hurtled over the edge as his arms closed around her. _

_They were silent for a very long time afterwards. On his part, he thought, it was almost shock. He'd never been made love to like that before, never been taken so forcefully and mercilessly by a woman, though he was more than willing to give her everything. Because he loved her, there was nothing she could take that was too much. And besides, it had been... It had been wonderful. The most intense, violent comfort that he could have imagined. God, merciful God, he loved her! And they had made love, and he hadn't told her so. _

"_Isobel," he whispered, knowing by the uneven rise and fall of her breathing that though she was still she was not asleep, "Isobel, I've been so stupid."_

_She stiffened in his arms, her body going taught against his. He stayed quiet so as to let her speak if she wanted to. There was silence for a long while._

"_Oh," came her reply at last._

"_What?" he asked her._

"_Nothing," she replied, and he felt her sit up, her weight leaving his body swiftly as she sat up and pushed back the covers._

"_Isobel, wha-...?" He broke off his question, seeing that she was crying as she stood up as quickly as she could, with some difficulty she extracted herself from him and the bedsheets. He caught a glimpse of two tear tracks running gently down her face as she stood up, before she quickly turned her back to him._

_He could not go on, seeing her tears. His head fell back against the pillow, unable to watch as she gathered her clothes from the floor and redressed herself quickly and clumsily. She regretted him. That was all it was. A cavernous silence filled the room, louder than the shuffling sound of her clothes. He stared blankly at the ceiling as the door shut with a cold, crisp snap. He could still feel the ghost of her weight balanced provocatively above his pelvis, the feeling of her swollen lips against his. They had made love, and she had gone, regretted him. _

_Lying there, unable to move, though he knew he could not stay like this for long, he thought that this __might be the worst day of his life. _

**But there will be a second chapter (I can't leave them like this!) And it won't all be in flashback!**

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I'm definitely not in love with this. I find important conversations so difficult to write. **

The preparations for the Christening seemed to be well under way. He could tell because, inadvertently, he was in the church when Lord and Lady Grantham and Lady Mary arrived at the church to discuss the arrangements with Travis. A little way behind them, carrying the baby in her arms, came Isobel. She did not proceed towards the alter where the vicar waited to meet them, but waited at the back of the church, holding the baby, walking him gradually back and forward. It seemed that Lady Mary had been right; she seemed to be there almost in the capacity of nursemaid. He mentally cursed himself for being there, though there was no way he could have known that they would arrive now.

He did not even know why, particularly, he was here. Only that, ever since they had... been together, he had felt the need for the quiet that could only be found within the cool stone walls of the church in Downton. He would sit there quietly, in a pew near the back of the church, a little way from the aisle, just staring at the weak little flickering lights of the few candles that were lit and thinking the same thought over and over again, "Forgive me, take care of her. Please. Forgive me..."

But he couldn't stay there now. Picking up his hat, he rose quietly to go.

"Please don't leave on our account, Doctor," Lord Grantham told him, seeing him get up, "Unless we're disturbing you."

He nodded politely in reply.

"Thank you, your Lordship," he told him, "But I think I had best be getting along."

"You're not heading anywhere in a hurry, are you?" Lady Mary asked him, leaning around her father and taking a step closer towards Richard so she could lower her voice a little.

"Not particularly, my Lady," he replied.

"Then I don't suppose you'd like to stay and talk to Cousin Isobel, would you?" she asked him, "She seems so out of sorts," she gave a worried glance towards the back of the church in Isobel's direction, "I think she needs to be taken out of herself. I know she'd like to talk to you."

"I wouldn't count on it, my Lady," he told her warily.

"Oh, nonsense," Lady Mary told him a little brusquely, almost, he thought, with Isobel's own manner, "She came with us to look after the baby. She adores him, but I'm worried that she will become to reliant upon being preoccupied by him if she keeps this up. They spent days together, but I think she needs something else too. From what I can tell, the two of you haven't seen each other properly in a while, and you are both such good friends. Now, don't try to deny that. She doesn't mention you, but I can tell by the look on her face when anyone mentions you that she'd like to speak to you."

"Mary dear, that's quiet enough," her mother scolded her gently, "Let the doctor get along if he needs to."

"Please," Mary told him, before turning and following her parents down the aisle to see Travis.

Richard gave a hearty sigh. He knew Isobel hadn't seen him, she was too busy concentrating on the little boy in her arms, walking him gently back and forwards, trying to get him off to sleep. He would have to pass her as he left anyway; the pattern of her walking was almost obstructing the church door. Not without some considerable hesitation, he left the row and made his way towards the back of the church.

Still, she did not look up from the baby's face as he approached.

"Isobel," he spoke very quietly, "How are you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, facing away from him, absolutely still for a moment. He suspected she took the few seconds to gather herself before she turned around to face him. Even when she did that, she spoke more to his chin that to him, and did not meet his eyes.

"I'm well," she replied.

"That's good," he replied, "And the baby?"

"You were at the house to check on him yesterday," she reminded him.

"So I was," he replied, "But, nevertheless."

"He's alright," she told him, her voice softening a little, as if acknowledging, a little reluctantly, that he meant it to be a kind enquiry, "Aren't you?" she asked the bundle in her arms, slowly resuming her soft pacing, back and forth, "He's a good little boy. Flourishing."

"As well as can be expected," he qualified.

He regretted it saying it immediately, seeing the small smile that had formed on her face drain clean away.

"Obviously," she replied, her coldness fully returned.

He had only meant to acknowledge the circumstances they were all facing, and coping with so admirably, by all accounts. It had been a stupid thing to say. Once again, he found himself cursing his own tongue.

"Isobel," he began slowly, "I'm-..."

"Don't, Richard," she told him, "Please, whatever you want to say, don't."

Her pace was sharp by now, not looking at the baby, her face set and as she turned around her dress swished briskly around her ankles.

"Isobel, there's no point not acknowledging that everything's not alright," he told her in a quiet voice, "There's no shame in it."

"How do you know what I'm acknowledging?" she asked harshly.

His gaze fell to the floor.

"I don't," he admitted, "But-..."

"Do you think it's not tormenting me every hour of the day?" she asked him, her voice little more than a hiss, "Why do you think I can hardly leave his son? Because it nearly fills the empty ache of not having my own boy in my arms."

He could see tears flashing in her eyes.

"Then why do you pretend to be so strong, then?" he asked.

"Pretend?" she repeated incredulously, "There isn't anything else for me to be! What else am I supposed to do?"

"You could come to me!" he replied, his voice catching so that the words left his throat with a strangled sound, "Heavens, Isobel, I know you don't want to, but I'm there. I want to help you, in anyway I can. Isobel, will you stop walking like that?" he finally burst out in exasperation, "If you're not careful, you're going to drop that baby!"

She stopped again, and fixed him with another cold gaze.

"I know how to handle a child," she told him in a stony voice, "I've done it before, remember?"

"Of course I... Isobel-..."

"Anyway," she continued, beginning to walk once more, "Who said that I didn't want to come to you? But isn't it transparently obvious that I _can't_?"

He shook his head in exasperation, desperately.

"Isobel," he went on with as much restraint as he could, "I know you regret what we did, but that doesn't mean I'm not here for you in other ways."

"Why should you want to be?" she asked him, "After what I did? To you?"

"Because I love you," he whispered the words against the softly carrying stone of the walls, letting them echo back into time. There was a pause, they were both quiet. Her face was completely still with shock. "And I don't care if you don't love me back. Well, I do, but it doesn't _matter_, it won't change the way I feel, even if you're repelled by me."

"Richard-... Repelled? What?"

He blinked.

"You left," he reminded her, "We made love," he whispered, "And you left."

"But you love me?" she repeated, her voice full of uncertainty.

"Yes," he replied.

She shook her head slightly. Her face was full of disbelief.

"Richard, I can't talk about this with a baby in my arms," she told him, "I can't talk about this here," she nodded at the church walls, "But I think we do need to talk about this. I'm very confused. What do you think?"

He too was very confused so he nodded.

"We need to talk, but not here," he agreed.

"This evening," she told him, "Come to Crawley House?"

"I'd like to," he replied, "What time?"

"Any time," she told him, "Whenever you like," she paused for a moment in thought, then turned away from him a little, "I'd better take him back to his mother," she told him.

"Yes, you'd better," he agreed.

She began making her way down the aisle; his eyes never leaving her back. She stopped, looking halfway over her shoulder at him.

"Thank you, Richard," she told him, not waiting for a reply before continuing towards the alter.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**This was a bit strange/awkward/crazy to write. I'm loving your reviews, thank you so much, please keep letting me know what you think.**

It was not without trepidation that he knocked on the door of Crawley House that evening, just as the light was finally fading from the sky and the night was drawing in, and waited. He wondered if perhaps he'd left it too late in the day to come here. Perhaps he should have set off half an hour earlier. In truth, he was terrified, his heart was hammering. Everything, everything, his whole life as it existed now seemed to be hanging in the balance, dependant on what happened when the door finally opened and she let him in. Or ultimately sent him away. He was terrified, but at the same time he knew this had to be done. And anyway, it was much too late to back out now, he had knocked.

When she did open the door, the motion was shy. Tilting his head around to peer around the narrowly-open door a little, he saw her standing there, looking almost bashful, looking at her shoes. He hazarded a guess that she might be frightened too. It shouldn't have done, but it gave him heart; it made them feel like they were on more of an equal footing. When she looked up and opened the door widely enough for him to cross the threshold their eyes met briefly and he was brave enough to chance a smile, which she returned before closing the door again behind them.

"You look very pretty," he told her, unable to think of anything else to say, not thinking "Hello" or "It's kind of you to see me" might be more appropriate or safer. He had resolved to be completely honest with her, and evidently he was too nervous to quite keep his resolution in check.

But it was alright, her surprise made her smile.

"Thank you, Richard," she told him, sounding sincere. There was a pause for a moment, in which neither of them spoke, just lingering indecisively together in the hallway. For all she had accepted his remark it seemed to have thrown her somewhat too.

"Shall we go into the sitting room?" she asked him at last, "Would you like me to make us some tea?"

"I'm alright without the tea," he told her, "I had something before I came around, but I'd like to sit down."

She nodded, and he followed her down the hall and into the sitting room. The fire was lit, and burning gently, giving off a low light against the encroaching darkness. She switched of the gas lamp by on the table by her armchair and sat down, inviting him to do the same.

"Is it light enough for you?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you."

"Very well."

He had the feeling that she was asking him these questions in order to avoid addressing the matter at hand. They needed to talk, and she did not know where to begin.

"Isobel," he began hesitantly, "We're _talking_."

He caught her a little by surprise again, but once again she smiled, amused at his rather clumsy but helpfully direct way of phrasing things.

"Yes, we probably should," she agreed, "About-..." she broke off in an awkward pause.

"What happened," he supplied, meeting her eyes, knowing that they had to press the subject, he was here so that they could press the subject, "And why," he added with emphasis, "I think that would be the most helpful."

Again, she nodded.

"Yes," she agreed.

Even having reached this decision, they broke off into silence for a few moments. It was slightly harsh, and palpably filled with tension. He saw her eye drift in the direction of the darkened window, and thought she was going to lapse into a deeper, more untouchable silence- which they could not really afford- but then she spoke, quite suddenly.

"Why did you leave me, Richard?" she asked him, her eyes swivelling abruptly round to appraise him, "If you love me, then why did you leave me?"

"It was you who left me!" he protested, trying not to sound too indignant, but needing to emphasise this point very clearly, "If you remember. You got out of bed and left."

"No, I don't mean like that," she corrected him, shaking her head, "Although I grant you, I was the one who left then. I was upset, and I think I had a right to be then. What I mean is," she began again, taking a deep breath, "We were together then, weren't we?" she asked him, making sure they were agreed on the matter, "When we were together in that bed?"

"Yes," he replied simply, wondering if his voice even moved to convey just how together he had felt in those moments. Like never before in his life, he had felt "together".

"And yet you haven't spoken to me for nearly two weeks since then," she pointed out, "To me, it felt like you'd left me. Perhaps I was wrong. Was I wrong?" she asked, raising one eyebrow a fraction.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked, a little helplessly, "We made love, and you left, you looked so horrified. You cried."

"But if you loved me, _loved _me, Richard, what was to stop you coming after me later?"

"I didn't think you wanted me!" he pressed, frustrated by her lack of comprehension, "Jesus Christ, woman! What was I supposed to think? I thought you were appalled; I thought you felt I'd taken advantage of you. I thought you were completely repelled by me, I thought you were disgusted. You cried," he repeated, "Do you think I really could have come after you, thinking that? I hardly dared look at you. You cried. I wasn't going to risk hurting you any more."

"Stop saying that!" she told him sharply, her eyes flaring up, "Stop it! Of course I cried! Richard, what did you expect me to do? We'd just made love and you told me you'd been stupid. Yes, stupid, Richard, that was the word you used. I could hardly believe my ears. I know... the way I acted was... well, it was unforgivable of me, really. I was expecting you to say you felt you'd been used or mistreated, but stupid! It was more than I could stand! I couldn't have stayed one moment longer feeling the way that word made me feel!"

He was completely shocked, horror filling his veins, once again, at his own foolishness. It looked very much as if she was on the verge of crying again, but her hands made no move to pre-empt or stem any flow of tears.

"Do you know," he began slowly, "Why I felt stupid, Isobel? Because I hadn't let you know that I loved you before we made love, or while we did. I let you go on, feeling like you were... I don't know..." he struggled to articulate himself, to think, "I let you feel alone, when I could have let you know you were loved."

"You did, Richard," she told him softly, "Trust me, what I felt with you was far from alone. I thought then, I know now, that you must have loved me to have allowed me what you did. That's why I was so shocked when you said... what you said."

She broke off biting her lip, tears welling in her eyes now.

"Richard," she whispered, imploring him with her gaze,"Why didn't you say? These past two weeks...for you, they must have been hell."

"I couldn't," he replied, "I didn't dare. Don't think about it," he reassured her, "I don't blame you, truly I don't. You had every right to leave me."

A sob escaped her lips.

"You see, I didn't," she replied, "After everything I took from you. To leave you like that... I've behaved unforgivably."

"No you haven't," he insisted, leaning forward in his chair to reach her, taking hold of her hands, drawing them away from her face, "You haven't, Isobel. You didn't take anything that I wouldn't have given you in a heartbeat anyway."

"You don't know," she insisted, drawing a ragged breath, "I used the man I love, and left him lying in bed alone."

In spite of himself, his own breath caught.

"The man you...?"

She looked at him with watery eyes, her hands trembled a little under his and without thinking about it he soothed them still.

"I only cam to you, Richard, because I loved you then. As I love you now. You were the only man who could have helped me then, and I took advantage of your good heart. I didn't tell you how deeply I was letting you in."

"Isobel," he whispered, soothing his hands over hers again, raising his hand to stretch and brush her cheek, "Don't be silly. I've told you, I never minded when I thought you wanted to use me, I was glad to be able to help you. Now I know you were... making love to me, properly, making _love_, how can you think I'd be anything other than honoured?"

She sniffed quietly, taking his forgiveness with a warm smile through her tears.

"Do you realise what this means?" he asked her after a moment, still holding her hand, "I love you. You love me. Will you let me love you, Isobel? Let me take care of you. Please."

She smiled weakly then.

"Do you know what you're offering?" she asked, "Do you know how hard that might be at the moment? I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You aren't asking," he replied, "I'm offering. I want to. Nothing else will make me happy. Please."

**Please review if you have the time! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Her eyes were closed. Carefully, he watched every shuddering breath that passed her slightly parted lips as she gently slipped her hands out from between his, so that her small palms and fingers partially covered his, her holding his hands now, raised their cupped hands to her mouth, and slowly pressed a kiss over the top of his fingers. He was transfixed, he could not take his eyes away from her face, and then his hands when she released his fingers, his touch lingered over her face, touching her cheeks tenderly, hoping to hold her to him by any means possible. Her eyes flickered open, looking straight back into his; half-washed by tears but steady and fixed in their gaze now. Before that moment he had been intensely frightened of hearing her answer to his entreaty, but something quite ineffable in her eyes made that feeling melt away as quickly as it had formed.

They seemed to blink together, breathe together, held together in that moment.

"Well," she conceded quietly, "If you _want_ to look after me," she placed particular emphasis on the word, giving a small but radiant smile, "I don't see that there's anything I can do to stop you."

"Oh, Isobel," his breath left him in a long shake, "Come here, would you?"

She stood up from her chair quickly, crossing and settling herself on the sofa beside him, her body comfortably close to his. Her hands fell naturally back into his, her posture naturally inclined towards him, their eyes meeting; it felt like they were sinking backward, downwards together, as one. And it was consummately, incredibly natural when their lips met in a gentle, tender kiss that was so very close to being entirely chaste.

His hand held her face carefully, as if touching her too hard would cause her to break. Their kissed deepened gradually, her lips parting, allowing him access, his tongue carefully running along her lower lip, drawing it between his own lips and sucking fully, exploring each other's mouths until they were both struggling for breath. Her body rested naturally against his, her head under his chin when they broke apart, his arms wrapped securely across the back of her shoulders.

"Richard," she murmured at last, when their breathing had calmed a little, her voice soft with timid curiosity and deep feeling, "How do you want to take care of me? How much are you willing to give me?"

"Everything, Isobel," he told her quietly but audibly, unmistakeably, pressing a kiss into the top of her head, burying his face briefly into her soft hair, "I want to give you everything. I'll be your friend, your lover, whatever you need. I love you, I love you," he whispered it softly like a mantra, carefully raising her face to his, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips, "I'll do anything. Ask anything of me. I love you."

"Let me love you in return, then," she told him, "Please." Her lips whispered softly into his throat.

He didn't know there could be a feeling like this, this fullness, this closeness, even when barely touching. His view was completely clouded, skewed, over-whelmed by love for her. He could hardly think, he could hardly breathe, he was suffocating so very happily. All he could do was feel, feel her, feel his arms still wrapped around her, holding her. Her lips travelling back up to his face to latch onto his lips. He kissed her again, more fiercely than last time, unable to get enough of her.

"Be my husband?" she asked him, their lips inches from one another, voicing the suggestion that he had not dared to make.

"Oh," he could not think of anything else to say, "Isobel."

"Perhaps not straight away," she told him, "If you're not sure."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he told her earnestly, his eyes blazing into hers, "I want to. I've never stopped wanting to."

Impulsively, he hugged her tightly to his chest, knowing she could feel the way that his heart had sped up until it was pounding with excitement at the thought, with the unbelievable thing she had asked him in that moment. Her arm wrapped around his body too, her hand starting to stroke up and down his back.

"Listen to me, Isobel," he told her, "Listen to me."

"What?" she asked him.

"You're so brave," he told her.

She sniffed a small laugh.

"I'm not," she replied.

"No, listen to me," he insisted, "You're so brave. You ask things, you do things, you act upon your feelings in a way I could never do. You're fiercely brave, though I know you're hurt now. The clarity, the conviction of your mind. I can hardly believe you're real, let alone that you'd ever sit beside me or hold me. I've never known anyone like you. I think you're wonderful. Asking me to marry you... oh, God, Isobel. You... And when we made love," he continued, taking a deep breath, steeling himself to look her in the face and say this, "You were all that mattered in the world, and that's not changed since then. You were so beautiful, and strong. You're incredible."

Tears were forming in her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tilted in a smile.

"Richard, what are you saying?" she asked him, softly, "Don't be silly. I'm not-..."

"You are," he pressed, his arms tightening a little around her, pressing a kiss into her temple, "You're beautiful to me. To me there's nothing in the world so beautiful as you. I couldn't love you any more than I do, my heart would break."

"You are being silly," she insisted, "To say that you're any less brave than I am."

After his lengthy speech, she managed to take every thought of words out of his mouth by saying so little. He heard his breath deepen and tremble again. She smiled sweetly at him, seeing his discomposure, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"I love too you, Richard," she told him, taking advantage of his silence, "So much. I love you."

He smiled back at her as best he could, as her lips met his in another deep, sensual kiss. Her arms draped around his shoulders, bringing them closer together, his arms settling snugly around her waist. Her face nestled against his as they broke apart.

"Let's make love," she whispered in his ear, sending a palpable shiver down his spine, part-surprise, part-excitement.

He broke a little away from her, needing to see her face, even in the near-dark.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

"Yes," she told him earnestly, "Let's make love again. Properly this time. Let's," she kissed his face tenderly, with open-mouthed kisses, "Let's take our time. Let's wake up together."

"Oh yes," he murmured, "Let's."

"Come on," she told him, taking his hand and leading him to the door, "Upstairs."

She closed the door of her bedroom deftly behind her, pulling him towards the bed. She let him embrace her as they stood beside it, him almost lifting her off her feet, kissing her hard. He heard her gasp in surprise.

"Sorry," he murmured, setting her firmly back on two feet, steadying her a little with his hand on her waist, "Got carried away."

"Don't be sorry, Richard," she told him, her hand wandering to his tie and the buttons of his shirt, "Don't be sorry for a moment. I want you to take me. Make up for last time."

"It doesn't matter," he told her, trying to catch her lips again but she evaded him, "Honestly, Isobel, it doesn't matter."

"I took too much," she whispered back, "Please. I can't stand the feeling that I spoilt our lovemaking, the first time we made love by-..."

"Isobel," he murmured, sitting down on the bed, pulling her by the hand with him, "You don't have to make up for anything. Don't you realise that you making love to me was the best thing that's happened in my life? It is the only thing that has ever happened. The only thing that matters. I love that you took me, you made me feel wanted like I've never felt in my life. It was incredible. You gave as much as you took. More."

"Richard," she murmured, pleading with him.

"Alright," he acquiesced, "Alright," holding her to him, "Just let me hold you. Let me kiss you."

His lips touched hers tenderly again, then more intensely. His hand began to work on her hair pins, letting her hair gradually fall down her back. He kissed her face, her neck. Her hands held his head gently, pressing him closer to her.

"Take my dress off," she told him, "Please."

He stood her back only for long enough to remove her dress so that she stood before him in her corset and shift, her hands moving deftly to remove his shirt; their clothes falling carelessly to the floor. Settling her gently back on the bed, they rolled so that he lay above her, kissing her intently. Her shift worked halfway up her legs, he gently caressed the curve of her knee, tracing up her thigh, the line of her hip.

He felt her hands clutching his back. They had said they would go slowly, but here he was, already caressing her thigh, slowly back and forth.

"Isobel," he told her quietly, "Please take your corset off."

He sat up to let her move and without much ado she had the thing off and it joined the dress and his shirt on the floor.

"The shift too?" she asked him, reaching down for the hem.

"If you like," he told her, swallowing a little at the thought of her naked body, beautiful and under him.

He saw her smile.

"I know we said we'd take things slowly," she told him, reading his mind, again, "But I want to feel you, Richard. I want to feel your skin on me."

She shrugged the shift over her arms and off, tossing it onto the floor.

"Oh, Isobel," he murmured, seeing her body again, anew, "Isobel."

Reaching out, he cupped her breast gently, running his thumb carefully over her nipple, making her whimper. Spurred by her reaction, he leant forwards, taking her breast into his mouth, lavishing her nipple with his tongue, his hand rising to knead the other.

"Richard, that feels so good," she told him.

"Do you want more?" he asked, his lips still pressed against her skin, letting the sound rub against her breast, making her shiver.

"Yes," she replied, "Please, touch me, Richard."

His hand slipped between her thighs, obeying her wish without hesitation. Drawing her underwear off, her parted her so very slowly, so that she arched into his hand, desperate for more contact.

"Richard," she moaned, her hips jerking a little.

"What, my darling?" he asked her, "What is it you want?"

His fingers rested on her folds, moving so very slightly in a regular rhythm, which he knew she could feel. She stumbled a little, her breath too uneven to allow her to speak.

"Is it this?" he asked, taking pity on her, sinking a single finger inside her.

"Yes, Richard," he heard her half-cry, "That's it."

He slipped another finger in, pressing against her nub with his thumb.

"Now I want you to come," he told her, "Please, for me."

"I can't," she moaned out, panting with the regular movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb.

"Please," he told her, "Just let go. Please. Darling, Isobel."

He sank his head back to her bosom, kissing her breasts, moving down her stomach, feeling the tension in her body, finally latching onto her nub with his mouth, his fingers still inside her.

"Oh, God, Richard, I-..." her words were lost in a cry, as she came, hard, her hips rocking against his mouth, her muscles clenching around his fingers.

He smoothed his hands over her sides, holding her softly as her body continued to undulate and finally stilled, her breath still coming in sharp gasps.

"I can't believe you allowed me that," she told him, "You-... You're-..."

"Shh," he told her, kissing her temple again, burying his face in her hair- damp and curling from exertion.

"Make love to me," she told him quietly, "Inside of me, Richard. Please. I want you."

He paused for a beat.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

His hand moved from her arm, trailing back to her breast. Hers moved deftly to work on the fastenings of his trousers.

His trousers off, he lay over her, pressing her body to the mattress.

"I love you so much," he told her, kissing her.

She smiled.

"Yes, I know, I love you too."

They kissed once.

"Now," she told him, "Please."

And he did.

It took a long time for them both to recover, collapsed together, arms locked around bodies, her legs wrapped around his waist and holding him firmly inside of her.

"Never leave," she told him, in between ragged breaths, "Just, never leave me, Richard."

"Never," he agreed, kissing her collarbone tenderly, "Never."

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


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